Across the Multiverse
by FanOfWriters
Summary: Creepy events, strange creatures, and dirty, dirty people have been causing all kinds of trouble for the Ventures. Except this time, it's not Rusty's fault. Kind of. An Adult Swim crossover of epic slash proportions. Hank/Dermott, Dean/Triana, and more.
1. Chapter 1

"Brock?"

It had been three months, three long, _agonizing _months of Hatred and his dad spoiling his brother and making him clean up the attic, months of no one to hang out with but Dermott, months of eating alone because Dad was showing Dean something he'd never in a million years understand, three months of the loneliest and most confusing time of his life, and now, Brock had the nerve to sit in _his _chair and eat _his _cereal like he hadn't _abandoned_ him in a family full of dumb nerds.

But all he could think about was that Brock had _come back_, he hadn't left, and everything was going to be okay. _Finally…everything was going to be ok because Brock was back, _and without thinking he ran and he enveloped Brock in a huge hug.

Brock, meanwhile, stepped back to get a better look at him. He'd had gotten taller, and maybe a little more filled out than he remembered. His eyes were the same bright blue, but they looked just a tiny bit older. When he noticed his old beat-up jacket hanging over Hank's shoulders, he felt a bit of what he imagined to be fatherly pride come up, but he quickly managed to stifle it down. Close one, though. "Hair's gotten longer. Need to get it cut."

"Nah." Hank replied, as he fingered his hair back and gesturing at Brock's hair. "I like it this way." They stood facing each other, silent, until Hank's bottom lip wavered a bit too much, and Brock took pity on the little guy and swept him up in a bone-crushing hug.

"Why did you leave me?" Hank whispered, smelling an odd combination of blood and aftershave and never feeling more at home.

At first Brock did not answer. And then he held him closer. Very softly, he said, "Hank, I'll never leave you."

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry, _damn it._

"I'm sorry." Hank apologized through his tears. "I'm sorry, but I just missed you _so much-_"

"Me too, kiddo." He awkwardly patted his back. "Me too." It was quiet for a while, except from the sound of Hank's breath gasping between sobs. It was quiet, until Hank noticed he was hugging a man covered in another man. Well, most of another man, anyway. He leaned back to get a better look.

"Holy hell, is that _blood_?" he asked, a little disgusted but a hell of a lot more excited.

"Hank, you're gonna wake up your brother-"

"Sorry, but: Oh _man_, how many people did you kill? Did you tear their limbs off, and beat them with it?"

"Look, uh, can we talk about this when we're not hugging? And when, uh…you've got pants on?"

Dean voice rang from down the hallway. "Hank, _SHUT UP_."

"YOU SHUT UP!"

"Shoulda just bought the damn cereal." Brock muttered to himself.

The voice got closer. "Hank, it is 1 in the morning- Holy hell, is that Brock? Oh my gosh, is he covered in _blood_?"

Brock sighed. "Hey, Dean."

"Dean, he tore a guys arm off and _beat _him with it!"

Dean winced. "Charming."

"Hank, Dean, if I come down there and one of you isn't decapitated, so help me-"

"Dad! Dad, Brock is here!" Hank broadcasted up the stairs.

"What? Hank, what did I _say _about touching Daddy's diet pills-"

"No, dad, seriously: he's right here!"

"What happened? Did Hank get into your stash again, Doc?" They could hear from below.

"Hatred, go back to bed- and good god, put your pants back on, you're not in the priesthood, for Pete's sake!" Dr. Venture made his way downstairs, and when he saw Brock there was maybe about three seconds of admiration until he noticed his attire.

"Oh, for the love of- is that blood?"

"Well, look at the time," Brock checked his arm, which was totally weird because he wasn't even wearing a watch. "Time to go, goodnight boys."

"And all over my clean linoleum floor- for heaven's sake Brock, you ever hear of a floor mat? Maybe try wiping your feet next time, how did you even get across the carpet-" His eyes widened, and he walked quickly toward the main entrance. "Brock, if there is even one _drop _of blood-"

"Hank, what's Brock doing here?" Dean asked, confused.

"No idea, but isn't it great?" Hank exclaimed, staring at his hero in awe as the argument escalated.

"Yeah," Dean half-heartedly agreed, "It's….great, but what about-"

"One _iota _of plasma, Brock-"

"Doc, would you relax? I came in through the window-" Brock answered the scientist.

"If I could interject-" Dean started to say.

"Oh, so now there's shards of broken glass all over my floor?"

"I opened it from the outside."

"Guys?"

"You opened it. From the outside.."

"Well, with my fist, _yeah_-"

"_Guys-"_

"And you just sit right down and eat my cereal while a veritable pit of glass lies waiting-"

"Oh for god sake- _Fine, _I'll clean it up, just _stop talking-_"

"You don't get to tell me to shut up in _my _house Brock Sampson, if you get blood on my linoleum, glass on my floor, and a busted up window, you overgrown-"

"_Guys! Hey!_" Dean yelled. "Would you quit arguing for five seconds and explain what Brock is doing here?"

They stood quietly. "Dean, take Hank and go to bed." Venture demanded.

"But-"

"_Now._" he insisted loudly.

"But you're staying right?" Hank pleaded. "When I wake up, you'll still be there, huh?"

Brock didn't answer right away. "Hank…"

"I don't believe it," Hank breathed. "I don't believe this."

"Hank-"

"You said…you said you'd never leave. And now…now, you're just gonna go? Just like that?" Hank shook his head, and backed away. "You lied."

"Hank, c'mon, be reasonable."

"You lied to me." he repeated,

"I mean what I said, Hank-"

"_Liar!_" And he stormed upstairs, Dean hesitating, and then running up after him.

"Hank! Hank, come back!" He turned to Rusty, exasperated. "Real helpful."

"What did you say to him?" Rusty ignored him. "I'm not dealing with what you started, Brock."

"Nothing, look, I gotta go," He collected his things and made his way out. "Thanks for the cereal."

He raised his eyebrow. "No mind wipe?"

"They'll just think it's a dream, it's not worth it."

"No," Venture agreed, staring up at the stairs. "It's not."

* * *

"Hank? Can I come in?"

Hank rolled his swollen red eyes. Great. Hatred.

"What's the problem?" Hatred said as he ventured in.

"Leave me alone. I'm awake, you got no reason to come in here."

"Ignoring that," Hatred huffed. "What's got you so riled up, anyway?"

"Leave me alone, I said!"

Hatred looked around. "Where's your brother? He's good at the touchy-feely stuff."

"In the bathroom. Probably half-dressed. Go bother him."

"Once again, ignoring that," he deadpanned.

Hank had had enough. "Look, I already have a father, I don't need some Michael Jackson wannabe trying to be one, okay?"

Hatred winced. "Too soon."

"Just go," Hank mumbled into his pillow. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Is it your dad?" Hatred asked. Hank didn't answer, and he took it for a yes.

"Look, Hank," Hatred sat down on the bed next to him, looking as tired as Hank felt. "There's something you should know. Something someone should have told you a long time ago, something someone should have told your _father _a long time ago."

"You're a good kid, Hank. You're a great kid. You just happen to have a lousy dad. Now, instead of letting it get you down, take that energy and make something _good_. Not for your dad." He clapped a hand on Hank's shoulder. "For you."

Hank felt a little better. Okay, so maybe Hatred was lame, and kind of a sucky bodyguard, and maybe he did get him and Dean drunk on wine coolers one night and did really weird things, but he was the only one who'd at least bothered to check up on them the next morning and make them pancakes. Pancakes shaped like _dinosaurs. With chocolate chips._ That had to count for something, right?

"If you ever want to talk, let me know, ok?" Hatred assured.

"Okay," Hank said hesitantly. "We can do that. Just don't get all Roman Polanski on me. I got enough problems as it is."

"I'm going to let that slide because you've had a rough night," he declared. Reaching over, he pulled the blanket over Hank in a somewhat clumsy but endearing manner.

"Night night."

"Night, Hatred." Hank mumbled, feigning sleep. He waited until the door closed, and grabbed the house phone from under his pillow. He'd had enough of his father for one night, and he wasn't about to stick around for another lecture.

'Figures,' Hank thought. 'The only adult around here I can depend on is an ex child molester.'

"Dude," Hank whispered into the phone, when someone finally picked up. "Can you come pick me up?"

"What, are you serious? It's like two in the morning; call me tomorrow," Dermott said, his groggy voice bearing the slightest hint of annoyance. "Dermott needs his beauty sleep."

"Dermott needs to get his fat butt over here and pick me up, like, _yesterday._" He sat down on hid bed, mind racing. "I'm serious man, you have no idea the crap that just went down."

* * *

"Geez, you wanna maybe chew your food first?" He watched Dermott shove half a taco in his mouth in less than a few seconds. Dermott at least had the decency to swallow before he responded.

"Whatever." he said, taking another huge bite. "Itsh not as'h if we're on a 'ate."

"Like you could get one, cripes, you've got sour cream on your pants..is that sour cream? Aw man, what _is _that, is that-"

"Shut up, dickweed."

"I mean look at you, it's like you walked into a refrigerator-"

"I said, _shut up, Hank-_"

"I'm just saying-"

Dermott slammed the burrito out the window. "Well, don't ok?" He jammed the key into the ignition, trying unsuccessfully to turn the car on. "I know I'm a cow, alright?"

He was starting to get annoyed. "I didn't say you were, jeez, quit acting like such a-"

"A what?" Dermott prodded, his voice at a dangerously low level.

"Uh…" Hank racked his brain, and then remembered what he'd heard his uncle call his dad, one time when they'd had an argument.

"Umm…A fag." he declared. "You're acting like a fag."

Dermott turned to Hank, and then back at the road. His face looked shocked, and then confused, and then _furious _and then very calm. Slowly, he pulled the car over. Dermott, for a very long time, said nothing. And then, he got out of the car, _slammed _the door, and walked away.

"Dermott!" Hank called out, rushing out of the car himself. "Whoa, dude, chill!"

Without warning, Dermott had thrown Hank's helmet fast and hard, _crack_! Through the window of a nearby warehouse, cracking a window and sending tiny shards everywhere. The force and the resulting sound froze Hank where he stood. He'd never seen Dermott this angry before. Hell, he'd never seen Dermott angry before _period._

"Jesus _Christ!_" he exploded, throwing an angry, _furious_ look at Hank. "_Why are you so goddamn stupid-"_

"I'm stupid?" Hank retorted, frustrated and annoyed with his best friend's behavior. "This coming from a guy who shoves a lighter up his ass to stop aliens from probing him?"

"Oh, _one time-_"

"You're the idiot! You're the useless jerk who keeps hanging around me, like some homeless mutt, some dirty stray nobody wanted! If I'm so stupid, then why don't you just leave me alone?"

Dermott chuckled humorlessly. "If you don't know by now, you're dumber than I thought."

Hank's temper boiled, and he was suddenly reminded of every moment when _Dean _had figured the mystery out first, when _Dean _had been praised for his latest invention that didn't even work right, and worst of all, every moment, every second when his father had looked at him with nothing but _shame _and _resentment, _and Hank knew, he _knew, that deep, deep down he _was_ stupid and his own father hated him for it._

"I may be stupid," Hank whispered, venom in his every word. "But at least I have a father."

Dermott said nothing. Then he walked right up to Hank.

"I would rather, " Dermott said, very calmly, "Have no dad at all, then a shitty self-absorbed _dick _of a human being who can't even appreciate how good a person you are, Hank." He stepped back, shaking his head. "As good of a person _I thought _you were."

He walked off, shoulders hunched, and Hank never felt so bad in his life. He'd finally made a friend, a _best _friend, on his own, and now he'd lost one. And it was all his fault.

* * *

"Alright Doc," Hatred said, closing the door silently to the boy's bedroom door. "The boys are in bed, safe and sound. Another day, another blood-free, clone-free incident."

He stretched, briefly showing a few red letters and a beer belly through a ratty, sweat-stained undershirt.

"Hank hates me, you know." said Dr. Venture said relatively calmly.

Caught off-guard, Hatred responded rather quickly. "He doesn't hate you, Doc…he's just…going through some stuff right now…he's at that age, you know?"

"Oh please," Rusty argued. "Do you know what he called me today?"

"Turd Burgler?" guessed Hatred, half-focused on folding clean laundry.

"Wait, how did you-"

"He called me it when I caught him trying to file the bars on the time-out room with a plastic knife," he admitted. "Not the worst thing I've ever been called, granted, but when it's from a sobbing nineteen year old, it hits you in the 'ole heart right here." he gestured.

Rusty sighed and took off his glasses. "What am I going to do…?" he grumbled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I've tried everything: fear, intimidation, threats: nothing works. And now that that Brock's come by, it's going to be even worse. If you think he doesn't listen to us now, just you wait and see. Next thing we know, he's gonna be sporting a pompadour and hitting up jukeboxes."

Hatred raised an eyebrow. "Doubtful."

"Sometimes, I stand over their beds at night with a pillow trying to work up the willpower to suffocate them to death."

"Ah." said Hatred, "That might be cause for alarm."

"Well, what do you expect? Dean's fine, better than I was at his age, but Hank? He's a huge pain in my ass. I mean how did someone from _my _genes, _my _family background end up so, so-"

"Innocent?" Hatred suggested.

Dr. Venture sat down, exhausted. "Innocent is a good word for it, yes."

* * *

"Dermott? Dude, I need a ride, home! Dermott!"

It was getting darker, and Dermott still had not left the abandoned warehouse. If Hank didn't get in bed before the butt crack of dawn, he was dead meat.

"Dermott? This isn't funny, man: I saw P-3, I know what happens!" He called out. "Dermott!"

"Christ, just shut up! I'm right here, geez." A sudden noise made him turn. Dermott was leaning against a metal column, holding the warehouse up. He didn't look angry anymore, just sad and hurt, and somehow that was worse.

"What was that about?" Hank asked, referring to Dermott's blowout. "That came out of nowhere!"

"I know," he admitted. "Sorry, I just lost my temper."

"Okay," Hank paused. "It's ok."

"No, it's not. Hank-" Dermott started, and then paused. "Never mind."

"No, tell me, what?"

"Hank." Dermott said, refusing to look at him. He very slowly held Hank's hand firmly but somehow softly as well. He rubbed the back of Hank's hand, slowly, and Hank was unexpectedly reminded of something he didn't quite remember, a memory he'd long forgotten, of a woman holding his hand, cooing, whispering sweet, sweet things, _Who's a good boy, who's my brave little adventurer, whose my little Henry Venture- _

It was only the back of his hand, and it was only Dermott stroking it, but he was close enough to smell the conditioner in Dermott's hair, and even though they weren't looking at each other, Hank could _feel _something there, wavering between them. He just didn't know what it was. Then something distracted him.

There was only one sole light in the warehouse, flickering on, then off, then on, then off then on again…the place was empty, abandoned, and completely absent…the odd thing, Hank thought, that at the very center of the floor was a medium size puddle of a black, oily substance. Normally, Hank wouldn't think twice. Normally, Hank would disregard it and turn his attention to his really strange-acting friend. He would have done so, normally, if at the exact same moment the pool caught the corner of his eye, the oil hadn't formed a hand, _and waved at them._

"Dermott." Hank whispered. "Please tell you saw that."

He turned to Dermott. His face had grown very pale. "Yeah, uh…" He swallowed nervously. "I was kind of hoping you'd tell me I didn't."

"Hank, lets get out of here." Dermott grabbed unto Hank and walked slowly backwards out the door. "C'mon, now."

"What?" Hank raised an eyebrow, pointing out the now growing black goop. "This is like, the coolest thing that's happened to us all summer! What if it's the goop from Spiderman? Dermott-" Hank grabbed his shoulders, looking him dead in the eye.

"Dermott. Spiderman." He turned and crept closer to the dark mess. "I wonder what it is."

"Hank." Dermott interrupted, fiercer than Hank could ever remember. "I stuck by you when those butterfly _freaks _invaded your house. I was there when your dad went nuts and became responsible for all those dead kids at his fucking day camp. I was even standing, by your side, killing with clone copies of _you _with _you, _while literally _hundreds _of dead bodies lied on your lawn." At this he pulled Hank close, urgency dripping from his lips.

"I'm up for pretty much any goddamn thing you and I could go through, but I got a bad feeling about this, and around you, my bad feelings always turn _worse._" He grabbed Hank's hand firmly, and whispered harshly. "I mean it. _Let's go._"

Hank tried to shake Dermott's hand off, but Dermott was bigger, stronger, and more determined. Annoyed at Dermott's behavior, he shoved him with his free hand. "Dude, what's your problem? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know that feeling you get, when you're about to sneeze, but you don't?" Dermott explained, exasperated and eyeing the dark pool from the corner of his eyes. "Every time shit's about to go down, I get that feeling."

Hank rolled his eyes. "Where were you when I was being molested by some old gross dude? Twice?"

Dermott stared in shock.

"Ok, one? _What? _And two?" He stared Hank in the eyes, and it was the first time Hank had ever seen that _desperation, _that deep rooted primal _instinct _to run, far, far, away from the danger, and Hank was overcome with the sinking sensation that if Dermott, who believed he was absolutely invincible was _this scared. _then something was very, very wrong.

"Two? Hank. Let's go. We'll get your dad. Or Brock. Or _somebody, _but we gotta get out of here. Please." Hank looked back. The blob did nothing. It just lay over the cement as if someone had poured it there, and it did not move. Somehow, this made it worse.

"Okay." Hank agreed shakily. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

"What was that?" Dr. Venture lifted his head, and looked in the direction from where the sound came from.

"I didn't hear anything." Hatred lied.

"The hell you didn't." Venture went back to his book, disinterested. "Go find out what it was."

"You gonna be okay here?" asked Hatred, concerned. "You look a little pale."

"You look a little fat!" Her shook his head. "I'm sorry; it's the stress talking."

"I can imagine." Hatred sympathized, thinking of poor Hank, probably crying softly to himself.

"Can you?" Venture sighed. "Those were stained glass windows; it'll cost me a fortune to replace them."

Hatred stared. "Seriously?"

"Of course I'm serious! They were imported! Now go away. I've got to get up early tomorrow, the Mayor's 'concerned' about the radiation of the machines on ground. As if anybody even goes by this dump."

"Yeah." Hatred stood up. "I'm gonna sleep this conversation away."

"Don't slam the-" The door loudly shut.

"Door." Venture finished, annoyed.

* * *

Dermott walked Hank to his window. "Should we get them?"

"I don't know, my dad's been kind of weird lately.." he admitted. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Okay, that's cool." He stood outside the window, shifting from one foot to the next. It looked like he didn't want to leave.

"Is everything ok, man?"

Dermott looked up, shocked, as if he'd forgotten Hank was there. "Yeah, no, nothing." he stuttered. Then he paused. "No, not nothing. Hank?" He leaned into the window,

"Yeah?"

"You ever been kissed?"

"Well yeah, sure, a bunch of times."

"Really?" He asked. He sounded kind of disappointed. Weird.

"Yeah, but only by a bunch of old dudes."

"You mentioned." he snapped.

"Well, I guess it's ok…it's not like they were my first kiss or anything."

"Who was it?" Dermott demanded to know, and then shrugged nonchalantly. "I mean, whatever. I bet she was ugly or something."

"Oh, he's not _that _bad-" Hank slapped a hand over his mouth.

"_A dude?_" Dermott chuckled. "Oh, you gotta tell me about this.

"It's not that big a deal!"

"It's a _huge _deal." He stated, half-joking. "Fess up. Who was it?"

Hank mumbled something.

"Didn't quite catch that."

He sighed. "It was Dean, okay?"

Dermott let his weight fall against the window. "Say what now?"

"Look, it was a long, _long _time ago, and we had to sleep in the same bed because Dean's was broken…we got to talking about weird stuff, and I said something about never being kissed and Dean said something about practicing…will you stop looking at me like that? It's seriously not that big a deal!"

"This is some Flowers in the Attic bullshit." Dermott turned to the door. "I'm going home."

"Hey, wait! Are you mad or something?"

Dermott hesitated. "Mad's not that right word. Just. Confused."

"Why?"

"Well, I kind of thought you'd be mackin' it with all kinds of babes, since you're kind of famous and rich and good-looking and shit, not slumming it up with The Wonder Twin."

"What's that supposed to- wait," Hank paused, looking up at Dermott in surprise. "You think I'm good-looking?" Dermott shook his head, amused.

"You really should talk about this shit more, bro: this whole 'no talking with the outside world' really screwed with your head."

Hank made a displease sound. "Please. If you think I'm telling your big mouth anything, you're so wrong. Remember last time? I got grounded for two weeks _and _I had to scrub the engine fuel out of the shag."

"Hey, you're the one who said it was inflammable, how was I supposed to know it'd catch on fire?"

"I thought it meant 'unflammable', like the opposite of- anyway, shut up, cause after this I'm never telling you anything ever again!" he declared.

Dermott smiled, shaking his head. "Whatever, man. I'm just saying, I'm way cheaper than any therapist you're gonna need in, oh, five years when you're married and you have to explain to your wife why you can't get it up unless she wears a sweater vest."

Hank slumped on the windowsill. "Is it really that weird?"

"A little, yeah." Dermott admitted.

"Is it cause it was a boy?" Hank whispered. "Is that why it's so weird?"

"It's weird cause it was your bro, bro. But, no, look don't worry about it," Dermott gave a comforting smile. "You can't be weird for buying a one-way ticket on the dude train."

Hank paused. "You sure?"

"Take it from me," Dermott grinned, showing all his teeth. "I'm practically the conductor."

"What??"

"Night, Hank." And with that he was gone.

* * *

"GENTLEMEN!"

"Um…I'm the only one here."

"BEHOLD! MY NEW INVENTION!"

"…That's a pipe cleaner."

"SILENCE! YOU ANGER THE PUDDLE!"

"The puddle?"

"THE PUDDLE OF MUD!"

"What, like the band?"

"SILENCE, I SAY! THE PUDDLE IS VERY SENSITIVE! IT KNOWS ALL! IT SEES ALL! IT-"

"It's gone, that's what the fuck it is."

"WHAT? WHO DARES CROSS THE CRIMINAL MASTERMIND ?? WHO DARES-"

"Jesus, will you calm the fuck down, for once? Inside voice, _Inside voice-"_

"I am sorry, apprentice. But I did so love that puddle. That puddle of mud."

"Look, I saw the damn thing, and that was not mud."

"…….it might have contained semen."

"Oh, _jesus_-"

"AND EMBRYOS!! I WAS MAKING A BABY!"

"You're _making_ me _sick_- wait, where did you get embryos?"

"SILENCE! YOU KNOW NOTHING!!"

"I know that the fucking healthcare bill better pass, because I am _quitting _this job. _SO. HARD._"

"IF WE DO NOT RETRIEVE SAID PUDDLE, APPRENTICE, HORRIBLE THINGS SHALL OCCUR. HORRIBLE, ACTION-PACKED, BLOODY, HORRIBLE HORRIBLE THINGS."

"Oh please, that's what you said when you lost the ShamWow."

"IN THE WRONG HANDS IT COULD PROVE TO BE FATAL-"

"In _any_ hands, Jesus, did you really put your semen in that thing? For god sakes, what is _wrong _with you?"

"…..I'M …"

"Ah. Point taken."

"APPRENTICE!! SCURRY THE SEVEN WORLDS! YOU MUST FIND THIS MYSTICAL MAGICAL SUBSTANCE AND RETRIEVE IT BEFORE IT BECOMES SENTIENT!!"

"If I get hepatitis from this thing, I swear-"

"GO! SCOUR THE DIMENSIONS! AND DON'T RETURN UNTIL IT IS SAFELY IN OUR GRASP! GO!!"

He stepped into the portal. "God, I hate this job."

And then he was gone.

"GOOD LUCK APPRENTICE!! GOOD LUCK ON YOUR WONDROUS- Oh look, there's my semen. Huh. Wonder what I put into the puddle. Of mud. Damn, that's a good band."

_To be continued…._


	2. Chapter 2

"Hank! Hank, get up! We gotta go!"

Hank grumbled. "G'way. 'M sleepin."

"Hank! Hank, please, get up! I'm not kidding, c'mon!"

"Dean," Hank squinted through his bangs. The room looked a little hazy. He must have been more tired than he thought. "Dean, Shut. Up. I'm trying to sleep, you tard!" Geez, it was hot. He tried kicking the blankets off, and then felt something big and strong pick him up, and immediately recognized who it was.

"For cripes sake Hatred, I'm conscious, quit trying for a feelski!"

"Ignoring that! Dean, no! Don't break the windows, it'll just make it worse!"

Hank was starting to sweat like crazy. God, this heat…Wait…what??

"What? Break the window? What the hell's is going on?"

"Hank, you idiot!" Dean shouted over the crackling of fire. "The house is on fire!"

* * *

"_VENTURES!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT??"_

"We're fine, Lestat, now sit down, I've had enough heart murmurs tonight as it is. Damn it," Venture scowled, as he sat with a purposeon the cherry leather sofa. "There goes my security deposits on the furniture."

Checking over Dr. Venture, just to make sure, he turned his worried attention to the children. "Boys? You are alright?"

"Please," Hank informed him with confidence. "It takes more than some puny little fire to scare me."

Dean stared at him in wonder. "That's cause you were asleep two minutes before we even left the house, dummy!"

He sniffed. "You can't prove that in a court of law."

"Why would I- Did you have stupid for dinner or something?"

"Dad!" Hank yanked at his father's sleeve. "Dean called me stupid!"

"Dean, stop pointing out your brother's flaws. Hank, stop proving your brother right. Now go upstairs and go straight to bed misters, or you're in for a world of trouble, understand?"

"But-"

"Boys! Upstairs! Right now," Rusty shouted, fed up, "And you can stop goose-stepping Hank: No one's amused, young man!" When they disappeared up the stairs, he massaged one of his temples. "Now I know why hamsters eat their young."

"Is everything…alright?" asked Orpheus, still recovering from his home being invaded so early. "With your family, I mean."

"Hank called me a fart-tickler the other day and Dean spends _way _too much time in the shower, but they're not on fire, if that's what you mean." He poured himself a steaming cup of coffee from the polished table in the living room. "We'll be out of your hair by tomorrow. Hatred and Brock are over there with the fire department extinguishing and investigating the whole mess. It seems the fire started in the lab or something. Personally, I think Hank's little 'friend' is responsible."

"'Friend'?"

"Oh, please, you think after all this time I don't recognize someone hitting on one of my sons? I swear, they're like catnip to grown men." He stirred the cup vigorously. "I don't know where they get it from." He lied, taking a big sip.

"I..I did not know Hank was…that way." mused Orpheus. "Especially because his brother Dean was quite infatuated with my daughter, if I am not mistaken. I just assumed that his brother would be inclined that way as well. Well, if he's homosexual, then that's fine-"

"He'd better not be!" Venture glared at him, as if saying it made it true. "I got enough problems as it is, if this kid expects me not to rain on his gay pride parade then he's lost what's left of his damn mind. He's already been acting out like crazy lately."

"I'm sure the boy is just looking for your approval.

_FLASH_

"_Hey Dad? Can…can we talk?"_

"_Dad, please… it's about Joseph…I really need to talk to you-"_

_He paused. "Joseph? The boy you went camping in the backyard with last night?"_

"_Yes, sir."_

_The lighter flicked back on. "What of him?"_

_Silence. _

"_Rusty, get on with it. What is it?"_

"_You'll be mad."_

_Tools were brought down with impatience. "On with it, boy!"_

_A soft sob. "Daddy, I did something bad with Joseph. I don't know-"_

_Silence. _

_More sobbing. "Daddy-"_

"_Come here, Rusty. Look out the window here, into the lab. Don't worry, they can't see you. What do you see?"_

"_Dad, what's wrong with him? What's he doing?"_

"_He's convulsing; probably a result from the diethylamide," He scribbled something down in his yellow pad. "Something to note for the future."_

"_His eyes are open, but he's not blinking…something's wrong, something's wrong with him, Dad!"_

"_The man is in great suffering. You see Rusty, this man is different from the other men I tested this on. His heart rate is slowing down, his body is rejecting all treatments, and it is very possible he could die in the near future."_

"_Dad, he's freaking out, do something! Help him!"_

"_I'm afraid I can't Rusty. There's nothing I can do for him. He's beyond saving, and he is going to die that way." He turned to Rusty, and the blank expression on his face had just the barest hint of contempt. Rusty shivered. "That man's body is different from other men, and he is going to pay with his life for it, and not man or God can stop it."_

_Rusty gave a great, heaving sob, clutching his chest. He couldn't look at his father. _

_The blank stare continued. "Nothing."_

FLASH

"Dr. Venture? Dr. Venture, answer me!"

Rusty snapped back to attention. He wasn't in his dad's lab, he wasn't 12 years old anymore, he was a grown man, with two sons of his own, and his father was dead, long dead. He shivered once more. Another flashback. _Goodie._

"_Fuck._" Venture muttered, pulling out a small tin container from his jacket pocket. "I hate those fucking things."

"Are you al-"

"I'm fine, I'm _fine, _will you relax?" He popped a small pill inconspicuously. "Just got the shakes, that's all. It's being medicated."

"Ah," He raised an eyebrow. "Your 'diet' pills?"

"Yes." he snapped. "My diet pills. Lay off."

"As you wish. But have you considered…other methods of tranquilizing your anxieties?"

He crossed his arms, not wanting to look at Orpheus, or anything for that matter. He just wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed. "If you're talking about therapy, you can stop right there, because the state police have so kindly inform me that if I so much as _glance _at a therapist and something happens to them, they're hauling my ass to jail."

Orpheus moved closer, and Rusty could smell the musty combination of cologne and old pages. His body was considerably warmer than his own, and their legs were touching. "I do not mean medication." he murmured, and then without brevity, trailed a long finger over the pant leg of his speed suit. "There are…other…ways of…relieving tension, Dr. Venture."

Rusty said nothing. He sat there, staring at the dark hand, then closed his eyes in forbearance and sighed. "It's been a long night. I'm gonna call it in." He rose.

"Of course," Orpheus agreed, embarrassed. "Feel free to contact me if there's anything you need, Dr. Venture."

He gave a tiny smile. "Alright," he agreed. "Alright.

He walked away and out of the room, and Orpheus lay his head in his hands and for the thousandth time sulked in self-pity. If only he were not a man, but he _was_, he was just a mortal man who wished and wanted and _lusted _for what he thought would make him happy. He had always been interested in the dark, in what lay beyond the facet of humanity, in the darkness of souls, and there was something, something _wild _and _feral, _something deep, _dark_ and tortured in that man's soul, and he was drawn to it, drawn like a moth to a flame, and he could only hope his innermost desire for Thaddeus Venture would not engulf him into the fiery depths of passion, where his heart and soul would lay _anguished _forever, in dark and utter turmoil, tortured by his emotions, and engulfed in the never-ending twilight of eternal love.

DING!

Oh! The cookies must have finished baking.

"Hank! Dean!" He cried upstairs. "_WOULD YOU CARE FOR CHOCOLATE COOKIES?? THEY ARE FREEEEEEESH!!!"_

* * *

Hank grinned. Cookies. _Sweet._

He paused mid-grin. Whoa there, Hankinator. First things first. He had to go talk to his brother. He would have done so last night, after Dermott left-

_Dermott. _There went a funny feeling in his chest again, like when he took a sip of water first thing in the morning- it made his chest feel funny, but in a good way. He played around with something in his pocket, the pin-back button that had fallen off Dermott's jacket a long time ago that read, "Beer: Helping ugly people have sex since 1862". Hank himself had a bunch of buttons himself, some funny, some mean, some gross, but for some reason, he liked this button the most. He held on to it.

"Dean, where are you? I need to talk to-" He paused. There was a light shining from the bottom of a door, not from the room they were staying in, but from-

"Triana's room?" he muttered to himself. He opened the door slowly.

"Dean-" He stood, shocked, and then bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Oh man," he burst out laughing. "There is a story behind this, and I don't even think I want to hear it."

"Hank, get out!"

He tried, but he was laughing too hard to move, the silent kind of laughter that made him heave, to and fro. "Oh my god…oh my.."

"Hank, if you tell _anyone-_"

"Cool your jets, I'm not gonna tell. But seriously, bro, who makes out with a _picture_-"

"It was a moment of weakness!" he snapped, and then shook his head in anger. "Forget it, you wouldn't understand." he said, sulking.

"Aw, Dean, don't be like that, I'm just foolin'. I told you, you're just in the freeze zone right now-"

"I swear, if you give me advice from _The Pickup Artist _one more time-"

"Hey, don't knock the show. That advice was _legit_." He plopped himself next to his brother on her bed. "Besides, you've got her digits, it's not like you can't call her."

Dean muttered something.

"What?"

He sighed. "She asked me not to call."

_Ouch. _"Ouch."

"Well, she's in training right now, and she's gotta focus on her studies; I get that, but…I don't know, I _miss _her, like all the time, and she's not even my girlfriend." He groaned. "Weird, right?"

"We're Ventures, Dean. All we _know _is weird." He nodded sympathetically. "What, do you like...love her, or something?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

Dean fumbled with the picture, tracing her face. "It's like, even being by her stuff makes me feel…close to her, in a way." It… it kind of feels like closing your eyes and imagining someone hugging you from behind, but on the inside. It's like being hugged on the inside, I guess."

Hank, who could count on one hand the number of times he'd been hugged, gave a soft smile. "That sounds nice." Hank whispered, smiling at his younger brother's face. "You must miss her a lot."

"Everyday," he admitted, as he carefully caressed her picture. "Everyday. So what did you want to talk to me about?" he finally asked.

He fiddled with the pin-back button in his pocket, thinking of what Dean had just said. "Never mind." Hank assured him. "I figured it out. C'mon. Dr. Orpheus made cookies."

"Cookies?" Dean grinned. "_Sweet._"

* * *

Behind him, Dermott closed the front door. The smell of roasting vegetables hung in the air, and it made his mouth water.

"I'm home." Dermott threw his bag on the kitchen floor. "What's for dinner?"

"Hi, baby. Meatloaf okay?" The sound of meat sizzling and the low murmur of the news put on low invaded the background. "How was work?"

He sighed. "It was whatever, y'know. I'm actually kind of tired."

She smirked to herself. "Oh? Is that so?"

"Yeah, Sullivan's riding my ass about the my stacking displays," he said, reaching for the milk carton and taking a long sip. "He called it 'distasteful.' Old fat wouldn't know tasteful if it kicked him in the face. You should have seen it mom, it was _so _tasteful. The pinnacle of modern art. Elegant, even."

"Dermott, honey, I walked by Big Bargains today and I saw the display. You stacked all the tomato paste cans in the shape of a cobra. Eating a mouse. You even popped one of the cans open to make the blood."

"Your point?"

She gently lay the pot down on the heat. "My point being, that we can't really afford to lose this job, ok? Money's tight enough as it is with the move, and the only reason we even moved here's because-"

He stood up quickly. "Got it. Job. Right. Whatever."

"Dermott, please-"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't wanna _talk _to him, Mom!" he said, raising his voice in frustration. "I don't want anything to _do _with him!"

"You did before!" she pointed out. "You were desperate to meet him before, you couldn't _wait-_"

"Well, I met him, I talked to him, and he sucks, okay? So drop it!" He stormed upstairs, and slammed the door behind him. Shit. _Shit. _The last thing he'd wanted to think about, especially after what Hank had told him last night.

Lying on his bed, he could see a poster of Led Zeppelin on his ceiling. He thought back to a year ago, when the thought of meeting his father had seemed abundant in infinite possibilities. He could be a rock star, or an astronaut, fuck, a _janitor_ would have been fine with him, as long as when they'd pulled up to his house, he'd come out running, desperate to see the son he'd left behind, ashamed he'd ever given up on him and his mom, begging to come back, begging-

Instead, his mom had pulled up to fairly deserted camp site with plastic tents pitched up, some bald guy yelling at some dork in an argyle sweater and one blonde kid who was kinda hot, and she pointed out the biggest, baddest, toughest guy there and said, "There. There he is. Your father. Go talk to him, see what he's like."

And he walked up to this hulking mass of a human being, and he does what every other rebellious kid does his age, he _tests _him, he sees how far he can go before the guy looses it, and what does he do? _Nothing. _He groaned, pressing his pillow against his face. His so-called father didn't even care enough to beat the shit out of him.

A knock at the door interrupted his sulking. "Honey? Dinner's ready."

He sighed deeply. Even with the pillow over his head, he could feel his mom staring at him, and it was starting to piss him off. She sighed too, and then sat down next to him on the bed. He peeked. She looked _tired_- more so than usual. He'd seen old pictures of her, and it wasn't that she looked different, she wasn't ugly or anything, but she rarely smiled, and she did everything slower than she used to. She was getting older, he realized.

"Dermott…what's the matter, baby? Huh?" She removed the pillow and brushed the bangs from his face. He couldn't help but give a tiny smile, it always made him feel better. "I thought you were looking forward to this, you've always wanted to meet him, so why-"

"What if he hates me?"

"Baby, baby," she ruffled his hair playfully, and he mock-glared. "Who could hate you? I'm sure this is just a big shock to him, give him some time to adjust; the man just found out he has a teenage son, for pete's sake-"

"Yeah," Dermott admitted, "About that.."

"No." She stared in shock. "You didn't tell him? _Dermott_-"

"Jeez, what do you want from me, huh?" He covered his face again in shame. "Even if I did tell him, I doubt he'll believe me. I don't look anything like him. You should have seen him mom; he's built like a semi!"

She scoffed. "I changed your diapers, remember? Believe me, you're more like him than you think."

"Okay, one? Gross. Two?" he sighed deeply. "I don't know. We moved here just so I could meet him, what if he doesn't want anything to do with me?" He froze. "Mom, if it doesn't work out, I don't want to move back, I _can't_, I-" He looked up, pleading. "I got a lot going for me here."

"Tell you what, sweetie." She kissed him lightly on the forehead. "If you tell him, and it doesn't work out, you and I can talk about staying, okay?"

Well, when she put it like that… "Yeah, sure." he agreed half-heartedly. "Okay."

"So?"

"So, what? I already told you, I'll go talk to him tomorrow."

She gave an evil grin. "No, so where'd you go last night at three in the morning?"

"Nowhere," he muttered, but the blush gave him away.

"It was that Hank boy, wasn't it? The blonde one, with the bangs and the cute butt-"

"Jesus Christ, mom, shut up!" He stood quickly from the bed, walking out in embarrassment.

"Did you at least try to steal second?" she cried out from behind the door. "No one ever got to home plate by bunting, sweetheart!"

"Mom!!"

* * *

"A little to the left…to the left, _the left!_"

The builders had started at six in the morning, and were still working by four in the afternoon. Venture took a good hard look at his scientific empire, and a large, menacing scowl took up his face.

"These are all the workers? There's like ten of them altogether!"

Brock studied the folded out map deliberately. "Best I could do short notice. They're top notch, get the job done in no time."

Venture tone shot up in disbelief. "Oh, please. It looks a cantina out here. I ask you, where are all the illegal immigrants when you need them?"

"Doc-"

"Oh sure, when there's jobs to be stolen or donkeys to be herded, they're freakin' everywhere-"

Brock pinched the bridge of his nose. "Christ, Doc-"

"-But when you need cheap labor or a decent taco, _no, _they're nowhere to be _found_-"

"Look, I don't know what they taught you in the University of Assholes, but out here, in the _real _world, we try not to perpetuate stereotypes five feet away from said race, got it?"

"Oh, what are they gonna do, revolt? They already messed up one revolution, I doubt they'd succeed with a second. Besides, they're probably all hopped up on Corona and crushed dreams."

Brock took a deep breath. Once. Twice. "Focus. Please. Now, it looks like a grease fire, but I can't really be sure. One of the machines blew apart, and there's scattered pieces of all around the perimeter. It's like it was blown up from the inside-"

He grabbed the papers. "Which machine was it?" Rusty took a closer look and looked confused.

"What? Why would this have blown up, nobody's touched this thing since the 80's. It supposed to be a kind of dimension hopper, across time and space-"

"Wait, you've got a time machine? Since when?"

"It's not a time machine _per se: _Think of it like the Timelash from Doctor Who: go through the doorway, and it allows you to not only travel through time, but through space as well. Instead of just being able to go when or where you want, theoretically it could take you across dimensions." He adjusted his glasses. "Not only could you go back in time to fix mistakes from your past, but the machine would allow you to witness the outcome of an action before you even _take _it. It's the answer to the Butterfly Effect. Theoretically, that is."

"Jesus." Brock whistled. "Did it ever work?"

"Never." he admitted, and handled the plans gently. "My father never figured out how to make it work. It was his last experiment." He concentrated on the plans. "You say someone blew it up?"

"Checked the whole lab; it's the only thing damaged."

His glasses glinted in the sunlight. "Interesting."

"Hello? Excuse me! Hey!"

They both looked up. In the distance, a somewhat tall, gangly man with wiry red hair was coming up the hill. He was decked in a lab coat, and carried a small briefcase with him and a very tired grin. When he reached them, his demeanor became relaxed and he looked very relieved to see Rusty. Brock was immediately suspicious.

"Excuse me, are you Dr. Venture?" he asked hopefully, eyeing Brock carefully.

Rusty crossed his arms. "Who wants to know?"

"Hi, my name is Steve Mitchell. I'm with the E.P.A, I'm here to speak to you about perhaps renting a laboratory on your property?"

"How much?" he asked flatly, not bothering with pleasantries.

"I'm prepared to offer you something in these figures," He handed him a check, "Is this sufficient?"

Rusty whistled. "What, are you kidding? Deal!" He held the check up to the sun. "Wait a minute…is this mob money? Am I getting whacked off?"

Brock covered his face. "Doc, I don't think that phrase means what you think it means."

"Of course it does, Brock." he snapped back in indignation. "Whacked off. To be whacked. As in, "That rather large Italian man followed me to a back alley and is about to whack me off," I _know _what it means."

"Whatever you say, Doc."

"You," He pointed to Steve, who honestly thought he had taken the wrong turn, because no way was this the brilliant scientist those meth heads next door had told him about. "Are you gonna whack me off or what?"

Steve coughed. "What? No, no, no: It's just that the E.P.A has gotten some…evidence…that there might be biological hazards on the premises, and we'd like to remove it and eliminate it as soon as possible."

Rusty paused. "So this is for the environment, right? To…_help_…the environment?"

"Yes…"

He gave a large grin. "For the _good _of the environment? To _do good_ for the environment."

"…Doc?" Brock warned.

"Uh…sure?"

He clapped an arm around Steve. "Welcome, stranger, to Casa Venture! You need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to leave the grounds and find it yourself, okay? Sooner or later you'll see we're like one big happy family!"

"Doc, can I talk to you for a second?"

"In a minute. Here, follow my youngest son Dean into the compound. Dean? Oh, Dean? _DEAN!"_

Above him, a window opened, and a teenage boy with mousy hair answered. "What is it, Pop?"

"Take this man inside the living room, and make sure he doesn't leave, there's some…paperwork…he needs to sign."

"Sure thing, Pop." The window closed, and the boy disappeared.

Rusty pushed Steve toward the house. "Go on, go, go! Make yourself at home!" He waited until Steve was out of hearing distance, and then he gave a satisfying sigh. "Well, that takes care of one hassle. Let's see the government contest _that_."

Brock gave him an incredulous look. "You didn't even check his credentials, and you're just going to let him move in on the same grounds, as you and the boys?"

"Oh please, with Hatred and you here, I _doubt _he's gonna try anything."

Brock did a double take. "I'm sorry?"

"You," he over enunciated, "Staying. Here. It doesn't make much sense for you to take off again, not with Hank and Dean nearly wetting themselves in excitement when you came back."

"Doc," He said softly. "I never agreed to-"

"Oh, nonsense." Venture refused to look at him. "You're my bodyguard, and I don't pay you to stand around and look dumb. Start guarding some bodies, for heaven's sake."

"You don't pay me at all, wise guy."

"No wonder. You're horrible. I can't believe you let me hire some guy without even checking his credentials, what's_ wrong_ with you?" He pretended to be annoyed. "Well, it looks like you've gotten a bit rusty, hmm?"

Rusty, Brock wondered to himself, seemed to be the source of most of his problems. He sighed.

"Look, maybe for a couple of days, sure, but-"

"Hank!" He motioned to his oldest son, calling out loudly, "Hank, guess what? Brock's going to stay for a while, isn't that great?"

"Dragging your kids into this?" He raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "Low blow, Doc. Low blow.

"Brock, you're staying?!" He turned to see Hank, who had dropped the planks of wood he had been carrying in surprised glee. "This is _so _cool, you can hang out with us, and teach me judo and take us to the carnival-" He gasped. "The carnival- Brock take us, please? Please please please?"

"Hank, why don't you take Hatred with you; I'm sure he'd love to go." Brock offered helplessly.

"Nah, after we went to the movies with him, he doesn't like going out with us anymore." Hank explained with a shrug. "Come on, please? _Please?_" he begged.

"Fine, sure, whatever, just calm down, you're freaking me out."

Hank gave him a wide smile. "Alright!" he cried, hugging Brock furiously. "This is awesome! I gotta tell Dean! Gosh, I gotta tell Dermott!" He ran off to where he'd last seen his brother.

"Man, that kid's excitable. He's like a puppy, but more demanding." he complained. "Can't you get Hatred to take them?"

"No way, Sampson. Hank worships you, there's no way Hatred can take your place."

Rusty hesitated. "No one could." He admitted, refusing to make eye contact.

"Oh." said Brock, touched. He'd forgotten that somewhere beneath all the cynical racism was a good guy. Way, way, way way deep down. Somewhere.

"Where _is_ Hatred, anyway?" asked Rusty, gladly changing the subject. "Because the Boy Scouts are going door to door selling popcorn again, and I can't afford any more lawsuits, damn it."

* * *

"Ah." sighed Hatred, leaning his large, sweaty body back down. "Yup."

"Yeah," agreed Billy, eyes lidded. "That was something all right." He pulled the sheets up in modesty, and leaned his head on Hatred's chest. "It's been a while, for me."

"How long a while?" Hatred asked, amused.

He hesitated. "Ok, never. Was it okay?"

"What, are you kidding? That thing, you did with your elbow-where'd you even _learn _that?"

"German porn." Billy admitted, running his metal arm through Hatred's chest hairs, causing him to shiver. "They're pretty messed up, actually. Took a while to find one without a goat."

"Hmm." He pulled him closer, and brushed his fingers through soft copper hair. "I had to go through a whole bunch with my-" Hatred realized where the conversation was going and then paused. "Problem."

For a while, neither of them said anything and neither moved, and Hatred verbally beat himself for even bringing it up. He was just about to get up and leave when Billy spoke.

"You can talk about it, you know." Billy said, trying his best to soothe him. "It's not like I don't know, it's ok."

"So you're…ok, with this?" asked Hatred, turning to his side and trying to convey his sincerity. "Cause I gotta tell you, I'm not, I mean, that's why I take medication for it, and if you think that the only reason I even pursued you was because of how you look-"

"You wanna know what I think?"

"Well, yeah, of course," Hatred insisted. He raised his hand, hesitated, and then quickly placed it atop ginger hair, running through it, slowly, with purpose.

"Of course." he softly repeated.

"I waited my whole life to find someone to like me for who I used to be, and you've waited your whole life to find someone to like you _despite _what you were, and I do like you, I do," he insisted, when Hatred looked away. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you can look past what I look like _now_, then I can look past who you _used_ to be."

They laid there, listening to the fan spin almost quietly above them. Billy felt peaceful, no scams, no surgeries, nothing but the sound of a deep and sure heartbeat, steady a rhythm as the fan above. It was quiet yet peaceful, and everything he thought "it" would be like.

"Tell me the story about how you joined O.S.I again, Haine."

"Okay, so I'm cruising down Belafonte Drive, and I'm stoned- I mean, Mount Rushmore stoned- and this cop pulls me over, right? So, I….."

* * *

The phone suddenly rang, and Dermott put down _Rolling Stone_ and picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, Dermott, you wanna come over? We just got Basic Instinct, and you won't _believe _what this chick does-"

Hank. He smiled. "Please. Sharon Stone? That cooch is like, 60 years old by now. It's almost as dried up as her career."

Hank sighed so deeply, it crackled over the receiver. "Yeah, I know. Dean showed me a picture of one, one time. It looked like someone shoved a hot dog in a blender. They're kind of icky."

"Yeah, I know. Some other time, okay?"

"Come over anyway! Brock talked to Dad today, and he's staying, Dermott,_ he's staying! _Isn't that great?"

"Yeah, dude, that's awesome. Congrats, man." He fiddled with the cord on the phone. It felt weird that his best friend was more excited about his biological dad staying than he was. "I thought you said he was leaving, what made him change his mind?"

"I don't know, but Dad talked to him for a little while, and he convinced him to stay!" he said, excited. "You know, sometimes my dad's pretty cool. He wasn't even all that mad about the fire-"

"Fire?" He sat up in his bed. "Dude, there was a fire? Are you ok? I mean, is everybody ok?"

"Yeah, some machine blew up or something. The house is a little trashed, but we've been cleaning it up all day, so it's no biggie. But get this:Brock said he's gonna take us to the carnival tomorrow, how flipping sweet is that? "

"That's great, man. Have fun."

"What?" Hank sounded disappointed. "You gotta come man, it won't be the same without you!"

"I can't go man, I've got wor- I mean, I gotta work… on my car. She needs a tune-up."

"Just bring the car over! Brock's crazy good with cars, right Brock?"

In the distance, he could hear an older man's gruff tone. "Wait, who are you talking to? Oh god, not that kid- Hank, hang up. _Hang up!_"

He grit his teeth. "Maybe some other time, Hank, okay?"

"Aw, come on, please?" he begged, and he could just see the huge blue puppy dog eyes he was probably making. "C'mon, you can't say no to me!"

He gave a soft smile. He was right. He couldn't. "All right, fine, whatever. But we're fixing the car first, got it?"

"Yeah, sure, cool. Bye, Dermott!"

"Bye, Hank." He whispered softly, and then hung up.

* * *

_We now interrupt your programming to bring you this breaking news._

_Over in Norway, it seems that strange puddle has been overtaking nearby wildlife, utterly consuming over half of a forest in a matter of days. Environmental scientists have declared this a worldwide epidemic, we have Maria Lopez with the story, Maria?_

_Thank you, John. It seems over by E.P.A headquarters, chaos has taken over. Many scientists have been observing and tracking the movement of this puddle of oil as it grows longer and subsequently absorbs and eliminates all life around it. I stand here with E.P.A scientist, Burke Brooks. Burke, What can you tell us about this puddle?_

_I can safely say that the E.P.A is taking extreme measures to ensure that this "puddle" does not continue to grow. Obviously, we are having difficulty containing it: it is spreading like wildfire, and whenever matter approaches it, the puddle devours it, almost whole, and there seems to be no trace of where it has gone. I'm…I'm afraid we have no choice but to deem most of Norway an inhabitable domain, and we have been assured by the government that measures have been taken to evacuate and relocate those living extremely nearby. I caution all those who see or live near it, do not approach it, do not attempt to capture it, upon sighting evacuate immediately and inform local authorities as soon as possible. _

_Can you tell us what it is, ?_

_It's…shocking…it's almost…it swallows everything, and then it just disappears…if anything I'd call it a veritable black hole, but in liquid form. I…I don't know anything other than that. Please, be careful out there, people of Norway. Your lives are at stake._

_A solemn warning from a worried man of science. Back to you, John._

_Thank you, Maria. Here at Ch. 9, we will keep you posted on this tragic and mysterious event around the clock. Just remember, if worldwide devastation is on the line, tune in the ch.9. In other news-_

Charles Ofdensen stared at the screen, along with the members of Dethklok. One by one, they all turned to Toki, who stared blankly at the screen.

"Bummer." said Toki numbly. "But pretty metalz, no?


	3. Chapter 3

**The carnival. **

**A sickly sweet torture stadium of hundreds of sticky, yelling children, all as hyped up on cotton candy and freedom as the next. The smell of corndogs and vomit were in the air, and by the roller coasters, and a little on Brock's shoes. It was a horrible, horrible place. Little children as far as his arm could throw ran amuck, knocking over sodas and old ladies and pushing and shoving and laughing and crying and screaming and Oh God I think one touched me-**

**Brock Sampson was in hell and it had a carousel.**

"**This is lame," Hank announced when they'd arrived, frowning. "Everyone here is like, five or fifty. I don't even see any carnival freaks. What kind of lame carnival is this?"**

"**It's a youth festival, dingbat; not a traveling circus. What'd you expect?"**

"**Hey, if I see a flyer with Criss Angel, I'm there, ok? How many times are we going to have this discussion?"**

**Dean scoffed. "Depends. How many times are you planning on falling for a "mind freak" by a complete stranger and **_**getting us kidnapped**_**?"**

"**Oh, three times-"**

**Brock took a good hard look at the roller-coasters. Maybe if he threw himself from the very top, the impact would kill him. Maybe.**

"**Go find your **_**boyfriend**_**. Me and Brock are going home," Dean tugged on Brock's sleeve, unsuccessfully pulling him to the parking lot. "Right, Brock?"**

"**Home?" Brock whispered. He remembered a place, far, far from here.**

"**Yeah, Brock…home," Dean raised an eyebrow. "Brock want go home?"**

"**Yes," Brock agreed, staring into the blankness of space and also probably the small child who had thrown up in a wastebasket and then fallen in it. "Brock want go home."**

**Hank, whose cheeks had turned red at the implications Dean had made, stomped his foot. "One? Stop calling Dermott that, you're not funny. Two? Fine. Take Brock. I don't care." He sniffed. "Don't think I do, because I totally don't."**

"**Fine." Dean replied, a little frustrated. "Let's go, Brock."**

**Brock followed in a daze after Dean, and Hank sighed deeply. Great. Now to find Dermott.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**It had been maybe ten minutes of searching for Dermott when Hank encountered a large purple tent. Sequins glittered the outside so much that it hurt Hank's eyes, like when he sometimes stared into the sun. He though about entering, and was considering it when he saw IT.**

**IT was the….the most spectacular….the **_**coolest **_**thing he'd ever seen.**

"**How much…." He stammered, fingers shaking, pointing desperately at the object, "How much for that?"**

**The man turned. "That?" He asked, and turned to where this weird kid was pointing. "What, the Batman cape?" It was still in packaging and had some kind of fake electronic signature on the label. "Are you sure? I got a cardboard cutout of Megan Fox right here-"**

"**The cape, sir." Was he drooling?**

"**Aren't you a little old to-"**

"**NO. HOW MUCH, MAN?"**

**He sighed. Why did he always get the weirdos? "Knock over the pins and you win it. Or pay ten bucks, I don't care."**

**He slapped the change on the table. "Hit me."**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**And what makes aerogel so incredible are it's applications: you can use them to insulate windows or even the spacesuits designed by NASA, **_**plus **_**it can hold up to 4000 times it's weight! Amazing, isn't it?"**

"**Yeah!" Dean agreed enthusiastically, handling the ball of solid air between his fingers. "This is so cool! You made this? How?"**

**Steve pointed to the various equipment on the table. "It's very simple. All you have to do is remove all the liquid from silica gel, which leaves it's molecular structure intact."**

**Dean thought for a moment. "So that means that it's an insulator which also means-"**

"**It's fire-proof, yes." Steve smiled. It was rare he actually did any science, and having someone genuinely interested in it made him feel important. "You sure know a lot about chemistry, Dean. Did your father teach you?"**

"**No, not really. So far he's only taught me about the scientific importance of progressive rock."**

"**It **_**is**_** very important." Steve stressed, nodding his head solemnly.**

"**Well, in any case, I've been reading some of his books from college, and chemistry sounds amazing. I think that would be better than what my dad does." he admitted.**

"**What does he do?"**

**Dean scoffed. "Mostly sit around and complain about his life. I mean, I get that Grandpa was kind of a jerk, but he just mopes around the house and sells his old stuff to whoever pays the most," He bounced the tiny ball on the table, enjoying the clacking noise as it projected back into his hand. "Brock says he used to be a great scientist, and that he almost surpassed his dad, but then he had us. I guess it's kind of our fault."**

**Steve felt uncomfortable. He'd never had any issues with his father, so he couldn't really relate. "Have you tried talking to him?"**

**Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing. "Oh, yeah, sure. It's on my to-do list." He shook his head, and from the corner of his eye some paperwork caught his attention. "Hey, what's that?"**

"**Hmm?" He checked next to him. Oh shit…in his excitement, he had forgotten about the whole reason he was sent here in the first place. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."**

"**Oh." Dean looked disappointed. "Are you sure I can't help?"**

**Well, maybe he could…"Depends. Have you seen a viscous like substance, kind of like black tar only thinner? It should be around thick vegetation."**

**Dean thought for a bit, and then shook his head. "Nope. Not a thing."**

**He groaned. "Great. Well, I guess-"**

"**You know where there might be, though? In the toxic waste dump by the Indian burial ground," Dean rubbed his chin in thought. "We've had more than our fair share of problems with it, one of the least being pollution, I can tell you that."**

**It earned him a look. "This town has a nuclear waste facility by a graveyard?"**

**Dean grinned, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Welcome to my hometown."**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**Hit me again!"**

"**I think you've had enough, kid-"**

"**I'll tell you when I gosh darn had enough! Now hit me!"**

**The booth handler sighed, but willingly exchanged another round of the blonde kid's quarters for the tiny baseballs. "Step up, step up, everyone's a winner, maybe, whatever." He called out lamely. "So play or go home, who gives a-"**

"**Darn! Again? Hit me!" Hank, who had spent more than some people earned in a day on a game rigged to lose had been at it all morning. His antics had earned himself a crowd, and the young men in it were anything but altruistic. "Boy, this game is hard!"**

"**Hey," one called out, a beefy tall brunette with a letter jacket called out, "Want me to win one for you?" He gave a charming grin, one that no doubt had been designed to melt the hearts of parents and the pants off teenagers without fail. "It's no problem.."**

"**Whoa, really?" Hank gave a dazzling smile. "That'd be way cool! Thanks, man!"**

**That had done it. One look at his baby blues and the crowd of teenage boys had lost it.**

"**I can do it-"**

"**No me, I'm stronger-"**

"**What's your name, sweet thing-"**

"**Let me try-"**

"**Get out of the way, retard: why are you even into him, he's way out of your league-"**

"**Why don't you fuck off so I can show you just how into him I can get-"**

**Hank's smile waned. "Uh, guys? Guys?" They were starting to crowd him, and Hank had been kidnapped one too many times for the situation to be comfortable. "Look, you guys, really, I can get it myself, ok? Guys?"**

"**Everybody, fuck off. He's taken." A familiar voice rang through the chaos.**

**Dermott stood menacingly against the game booth, narrowing his eyes. "What, are you all fuck-tarded? I said beat it, numbnuts. All a you."**

**Every guy but the jock from before left mumbling. He chuckled.**

"**This guy bothering you?" The handsome young man asked Hank, cracking his knuckles.**

"**No," Hank's eyes narrowed at the threat of his best friend.. "But you are. Beat it."**

**The guy gave an easygoing smile. "Okay, okay. I can take a hint. See you around, babe." He winked, several girls cooed, and he was on his way. Maybe the skanky chick from the dippin dots stand was still there…**

**Dermott was less than amused. Less than a day by himself and Hank had already gathered a harem. "The hell was that about, man? "**

"**I dunno." Hank shrugged. "I was just trying to get this wicked sweet cape, and then all these guys showed up." The realization of what had transpired hit Hank like a 747. His eyes widened. "Dude, I just realized…were those guys-"**

"**Yeah?" Dermott answered cautiously.**

"**Were they-"**

"**Yeah…"**

"**Were they trying to steal my cape?" He crossed in arms in anger and gasped. "Those jerks! I can't believe this! Can you believe that Dermott?" He shook his head. "Unbelievable. Did they think I wouldn't notice? They must think I'm stupid or something. Right, Dermott?"**

**Dermott stared at him the way his Dad sometimes stared at him when he'd make a suggestion about something. "You're lucky you're cute, you know that?"**

**A faint blush made it's way into his cheeks. "Shut up. Guys aren't cute."**

"**Whatever. C'mon, lets book it. I'll buy you a corndog."**

"**Neat!"**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**BY THE POWER VESTED IN ME, I NOW PRONOUNCE THAT THE MEETING BETWEEN THE ORDER OF THE TRIADS NOW COMMENCENTH! BEGIN THE CEREMON-"**

"**Do you have to shout? Really? We're all right here. We can hear you just fine."**

"**Come on, let him do his shpiel. You know he looks forward to it."**

"**IT IS NOT A "SHPIEL", AS YOU SO QUAINTLY PUT IT! IT IS AN ORDER AMONG THOSE WHO WALK SILENT AMONG US THAT-"**

"**You know what, never mind. Yeah, you really need to quit yelling. Jeez."**

**Jefferson leaned against the sofa. "Told you. Now why are we even here, exactly?"**

"**GENTLEMEN-"**

"**Christ- Inside voice!"**

"**Yes, very well. Gentleman, as I am sure you are aware, the dimensions between this world and the next several hundred have been severely out of balance," He waved his arms in a grandiose manner. "Something is knocking the very nature, the very structure of time and space, manipulating and stretching thin the very fabric of time with it's fat, muffin top body of evil-"**

"**Boy," whistled The Alchemist appreciatively. "Did you major in allegories or minor in similes?"**

"**I majored in Communications and minored in Woman's Studies and you **_**know it**_**," he snapped. "Now, I propose that we locate the source of this mayhem-"**

"**Ahem," Jefferson coughed loudly. "I hate to interrupt-"**

"**Yet you do it so well." Al mumbled.**

"**Shut up. Like I said, hate to interrupt, but I didn't notice anything. Or hear anything. In fact, before I got the phone call, I didn't even know we had meetings like this." He pointed to the television, which had, unwillingly, been turned to mute. "There's nothing on the news either."**

**Orpheus sat on the red leather couch, hands forming a triangle on his forehead as he concentrated. "I myself would not have noticed, had I not been here alone." he admitted, "I'm usually far too busy to notice rips in continuums, but ever since I've been living the "bachelor life" I've been in more tune with the spiritual world."**

"**Huh?"**

"**The spirits," Orpheus began explaining, "Have been communicating their discontent all over this dimension. They have been leaving signs-"**

"**Signs? What signs?" asked Al, skeptical.**

"**Not really signs, more like…post-its." Orpheus pinched his thumb and forefinger. "The little tiny ones, that you leave on pack lunches to remind others whose is whose-"**

"**The point," Jefferson demanded, arms crossed, "If you please."**

"**Of course. There have been clues, such as the change in electromagnetic atmospheres, the vast change of temperature throughout decades, the re-occurring of events in natural history-"**

"**The Red Sox beating the Yankees-"**

"**Aw, geez man, you gotta let that go! It was years ago!"**

"**I know what I know." Jefferson glared heavily at nothing and scowled. "And I know that call was bullshit."**

"**Shut up. Even if you're right Orpheus, and "ghosts are talking to us", that doesn't really explain why there's no evidence of it, Haley Joel." Al pointed out. "There's almost no proof at all. None."**

**He waved his hand and alerted their attention to the paperwork on the cedar oak coffee table. Waving them over, he pointed out the indiscrepancies between occasions.**

"**The significance behind each action by themselves is almost unnoticeable- only when you combine the occasions do you notice the glaring inaccuracies- simply put-"**

"**Not even close."**

"_**Simply put,**_** there are things occurring, things appearing that simply should not be."**

"**So?" scoffed Jefferson. "There's shit all over the place that should not be. There's a cemetery made of human remains, a bridge where dogs commit suicide- hell, I slept with this white woman **_**one time**_** and she wrote a book about my life and named it after me. You think I want that shit out there? She made half that shit up, I **_**never **_**said vampires sparkle, not **_**once**_**, that mother-"**

"**You're rambling, Jefferson-"**

"**The **_**point,**_** is that a few minor things have been happening, one by one, in different places, over the course of a decade. It could be anything. And until you prove it **_**is**_** something, I'm gonna finish my Heineken and drink until I forget my last name." He stood and walked away, grumbling.**

"**Don't you see?" Orpheus cried out. "There is something amiss! We must correct the imbalance-at once!" **

"**He's got a point," Al shook his head. "Listen, call me if you get somewhere. I got a date with Destin-"**

"**Destiny?" Orpheus asked, puzzled.**

"**No, Destin. He's my plumber." He waved goodbye. "Later."**

**Orpheus sighed. If only there were some way he could confirm his suspicions-**

**Wait-**

**Very slowly, the door to his only daughters room creaked open, revealing the very shut door to her closet.**

**He raised an eyebrow. That could work.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**That," Dermott burped, "Was the corndog. Of corndogs."**

"**I'll say. You had, like, twenty. How are you not barfing?"**

"**Practice." He admitted. He ran his fingers through his hair. It was getting dark out. "Did your dad call your cell yet?"**

"**Nah, just Hatred. Like, five times." He checked his phone. "And one from Brock, but whatever. **

"**So it's safe to say no one's expecting you home?"**

**Hank looked at his phone warily. The sun was almost setting, and if he wasn't home by curfew Brock or Hatred would probably go nuts and start a searching party, which would be totally embarrassing. On the other hand, he liked spending time with Dermott, the only person he knew of who actually appreciated his company. He bit his lip, and was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice Dermott staring.**

**His eyes remained focused on Hank's lower lip, sharp white teeth biting into it neatly. "So are you staying or what?" He asked, distracted.**

"**I dunno…" He bit his lip harder, and as the blood rushed to his lips they began to swell and plump. Very softly, the wind blew through the amber sunlight reflected in his beach blonde hair. Eyes dancing, he turned to Dermott, smiling. "What's in it for me?"**

**Dermott felt a very large lump in his throat which, he assumed, could only be his heart. That or a tumor. He wasn't sure which was worse. "Depends," he finally croaked out, clearing his throat and trying to grin cockily. "How do you feel about the beach?"**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**It's beautiful," Hank exclaimed, when they had arrived at the beach nearly a half hour later. "I mean, I never get to come here. It's gorgeous out here."**

"**Yeah," Dermott said as he popped a beer open, the hissing noise echoing between the crashing of waves. "Best time to come down here."**

"**Is this where you go? When you disappear some days?"**

**Dermott hesitated. "Yeah…sometimes."**

**Hank laid back, rested his head on his forearms and thought. "I don't know how you find the time, with all your jobs and everything."**

"**What?" Dermott coughed, almost choking on a sip of beer. "How'd you-"**

"**Please," Hank rolled his eyes. "I'm not an idiot." Leaning over on one hand, he stared up at Dermott. "So why didn't you want to tell me?"**

**He shook his head and took another sip. "You're a rich kid, it's embarrassing, I hate my jobs and don't wanna talk about it; take your pick."**

"**You wanna know what I think?"**

"**By all means."**

"**I think," Hank leaned over to grab a sip of Dermott's beer, "I think that **_**you**_** think too much about what **_**I **_**think about you." He shriveled his nostrils at the foul taste. "I think."**

"**Poetry." Dermott smirked. "Sheer poetry. You should write fan fiction, you know that?"**

"**Shut up." Hank made a face. "What's in this stuff anyway, frog pee? How can you drink this?"**

"**Well, when you become a man, you are dealt with a certain unfair hand in life, and you can either choose to go on a murderous rampage or you can swill it down with nature's anesthetic."**

**His eyes widened. "Jesus, Dermott, where did that come from?"**

"**The guy who bought it for me told me. Then he passed out, so I stole his wallet," He admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "But I heard him call a homeless guy a nigger, so I figure it'd be karmic justice."**

**Hank looked up at Dermott and smiled. "You're weird. I like you."**

**Finishing the can, Dermott threw it out into the ocean and cracked open another one. 'I like you too, douche nozzle."**

"**I know," Hank responded smugly, "That's why you keep checking me out."**

**Dermott quickly looked down at Hank. "What?"**

"**You heard me. You wanna tap me like a ketchup bottle, you want to be the maple syrup to my cabbage, the Raid to my anthill, the Leno to my late night talk show-"**

"**All those things go horrible together, Hank."**

**Hank scoffed. "Well, you steal from alcoholics and I still sleep in my aqua man pajamas, we're not exactly a perfect fit either."**

**Dermott stayed very still, and then abruptly stood. "Fuck you."**

"**Dermott? Dermott!" Hank called after him. "Dermott, come on-"**

"_**Fuck off.**_**" He snarled and walked a little faster to the car, throwing his empty can at Hank only to miss. "Walk home, asshole."**

"**Dermott, geez, calm down, **_**it's okay**_**-"**

**Hank grabbed Dermott's hand, only for Dermott to shove him away, hard. "What, are you deaf or something? Huh? I said fuck off, **_**Hank, **_**I'm not a faggot like you-"**

**Hank stood, shocked. "How am I a faggot, you're the one who wants me so bad-"**

"**Fuck you!"**

"**You wish." Hank replied, furious. "Y'know, I don't get you. First you get mad at me for calling you a fag, and then you scream it at me like it's gonna make any difference. **_**You're **_**the one who has a problem with who you are-"**

"**You don't know **_**shit **_**about me, **_**Henry**_**, so don't even fucking pretend for a second that you know what the fuck you're talking about." He sneered. "You never do."**

"**I know that you're insecure," Hank said very quietly, taking small steps toward Dermott. "I know you say a lot of stupid stuff and you act really badass, but you're not, you're just like every other teenage boy, Dermott, full of anger and resentment and fear and nothing to take it out on so you take it on your friends and your family but most of all **_**yourself**_**."**

"**Yeah fucking right, you got me down, Dr. Phil, now get off me, man, I said get **_**off**_**-"**

"**I know you like me. I know you like me because you're not the same as you were when we met, you're nicer and smarter. I know you're just embarrassed and you don't mean **_**half **_**of what you just said, because I know you like me. I may be a little slow, and I may not know much, but I know you like me." Hank held Dermott's face between his hands.**

"**Well?" Hank asked again. "Do you?"**

**He moaned and covered his eyes with his free hand. "I'm only on my second beer, can we talk about this **_**after**_** I've killed a few more brain cells?"**

"**Dermott," Hank's normally bright blue eyes looked stern. His hands were cold on his cheeks, but his face never felt warmer. He could hear Hank ask again, but only barely; they were close enough now that Dermott could see his every freckle, and they seemed to be sharing a single breath. The speckled blue in his pupils were larger than he'd ever seen them, and for a brief moment Dermott closed his own and just said, **_**fuck it.**_

"**Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah, ok, **_**yes. **_**I like you. There. I said it. **_**I like you**_**, the fat loner kid with chubby hands and a mild case of backne **_**likes **_**you, okay, can we go home now or what?"**

"**Not yet." And then Hank bit his lip again and right before Dermott could tell Hank just **_**how much **_**he **_**hated **_**when he did that, Hank leaned in and kissed him very softly, and very gently on the lips. He pulled away, blushing madly. "Okay," He said, walking away briskly and refusing to lift his head. "Now we can go."**

**Dermott heard a car door faintly slam in the distance, and a few minutes later could just barely make out a car horn honking respectively, but he couldn't move. The concept of leaving where we was and what had just happened seemed ridiculous. He just stood there.**

"**Well, fuck my shit." He muttered, and then a few minutes later settled his beer can in the sand and made his way to the car.**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**XXXXXX**

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

"**Son of a monkey's titballs," Steve gritted his teeth, wiping the mud from his eyes in vain. "Fucking waste of a trip. **_**Shit!**_**"**

"_**Language**_**, Mr. Potty Mouth. And it wasn't that big of a waste." Dean argued. "We got some dirt samples!"**

"**Not the ones I was looking for." Steve grimaced. "Jesus, what is **_**in **_**this mud, superglue?" **

"**Close," Dean chanted in. "It's goop.'**

"**I'm not sure I'm familiar with the medical term, 'goop'." Steve deadpanned. "Elaborate?"**

"**Well, I'm not sure if you know this, but when you leave a dead body out in the sun, it starts to rot and 'goop' is just the stuff that falls off and decomposes in the mud." Dean explained. "It's quite fascinating."**

**Steve watched as the brown slimy substance hung off him and started to drip towards the floor, only to bounce back up into the larger mass of it, squicking uncomfortably. "That's one word for it, I guess. Another would be-"**

"**Shit!" A voice down the hall cried angrily. They turned to see who had called out. It was Hatred, carrying a large load of laundry and a very pissed off face. "Are you kidding? What do you people do, **_**bathe**_** in filth? Is this a laboratory or a field in Mongolia?"**

"**There's very little dirt in Mongolia, actually," Billy pointed out, walking behind him with a smaller load. "Not to interrupt your angry ranting, I'd just thought I'd point it out. It's mostly snow."**

"**Actually-" Steve started.**

"**Shut up," Hatred demanded. "**_**Goddamn**_** it, now I have to do another load of laundry, and I'm already out of fabric softener, but you dirty motherfuckers can **_**stay**_** itchy, for all I care."**

"**Mr. Quizboy?" Dean suddenly asked, curious. "Why are you in my house, and why are you carrying Hatred's bed sheets?"**

"**He's inspecting them-"**

"**I'm fixing a hole in them-"**

"**He's inspecting them for holes to be fixed. In them," Hatred said calmly. "You know. For science."**

"**Right," Steve raised an eyebrow. "Whatever."**

**Hatred dropped the load of laundry and watched the filth drip unto the formerly stain free carpet. "Great. Another mess to clean up. Am I your bodyguard or your nanny?"**

**The sound of a window creak turned everyone's attention to Hank, who was awkwardly trying to sneak in through the hallway window. He gave himself another push and fell to the carpet, cheeks stained with red,**

"**Well-Hey-Nice-Seeing-Everyone-Guess-I-Better-Get-Going-See-You-Guys-Later-Okay-Goodnight-" He said, taking off to his room, but stopping before the door. "Hey Hatred, are you doing laundry? Cause I got some really messy pants-"**

"**What the hell do I look like, Kunta Kinte? Do it yourself Hank, you're almost twent- I mean eighteen."**

"**But they're really bad, see?" He reached into the bedroom and pulled out his jeans, which were coated on the bottom with a dried up black substance. It was only on one pant leg, and it had apparently eaten it's way up half the pants. It left a strange inky paint-like substance on the floor. Steve's face paled.**

"**Hank, put that down, **_**now! Drop it!**_**" He cried out, and Hank dropped the pants almost immediately. It made a hissing sound, and then began to vibrate slowly.**

"**Dean, get your father and a mason jar coated on the inside with water filters, **_**hurry!**_**" Dean took off running in the opposite direction, and Hatred and Billy stood agape.**

"**What the hell is that thing-" Hatred leaned closer. Steve pushed him back frantically.**

"**It's a fucking abomination, that's what," He eyed the glob cautiously. "Hank," He asked, trying his best to be calm, knowing the slightest move that could be cause for alarm could set it off. "Hank, this is very important. Where did you go that night when you wore those pants?"**

**Hank look somewhat disturbed. "Will someone **_**please**_** explain to me what's going on?"**

"**Hank, answer me! Where did you go that night?"**

"**I don't know, okay, my friend Dermott drove us there- why are you freaking out, it's just mud- What is **_**happening**_** here?"**

"**Call your friend right now, I need to speak with him. Where is he, Hank? Hank?"**

"**I can't-"**

"_**Why**_**?"**

"**Because on the way home, I realized I dropped my keys there the other night," Hank's face got paler with every word. "Dermott went back to get it."**

"**Hank, listen to me, back **_**where**_**, damn it?"**

**The glurp made a crackling noise hideously, and it appeared to grow larger,**

"**I don't know," Hank began to tear up, "Is he going to be okay?"**

**The glop was now at least two feet tall in height, and suddenly let a large caw. Hatred pulled Billy behind him and reached for his gun, while Steve reached inside his lab jacket pocket and pulled out a large Super Soaker filled with an unknown substance. The creature apparently recognized it and flailed madly. **

"**He'll probably be okay," Steve remarked as he pulled his goggles down, creature already charging down the hall. "We on the other hand, might have a small problem."**


End file.
